Never Take A Mime's Word For It I was invited by an acquaintance I've known for years to speak on the subject of becoming a writer to her High School Creative Writing honors class. I had two books published at the time and I assumed she thought I must know a thing or two about the process. Let me give you the lowdown. I don't have the slightest idea what it takes to be a writer or being a creative writer. But she and her husband were a couple my former wife and I had spent a great amount of time with when I was married. Somehow I felt a bit obligated to help out. I accepted the invitation but found out she wanted me to give my lecture the next day. I had no idea of what I was going to say to the class. The morning raced in as though it was running late for an appointment. I became stressed over what to wear. Jeans with a white shirt, no tie and my favorite tan blazer was the choice. The outfit I thought gave me the appearance of a distinguished yet bohemian author. Then I reprimanded myself for being self-conscious about my appearance for a bunch of high school students. I greeted the class of unenthusiastic faces with a spirited introduction of who I was. Which did little to affect the mood of the honors class. After my short bio I pulled out some of my books for the honors students, who seemed quite eager to get their hands on them. I had brought more than enough to gift the entire class of fourteen. I began my presentation with a question, hoping it would cause the students to participate. A method of capturing their interest I learned from a Marketing Strategies class I took in College. "Who here intends to pursue a career as a writer or author?" Four hands popped up. "That's great. Now allow me to share with you what I believe it takes to be a successful writer. To be perfectly up front, I don't have the slightest inclination about the do's and don'ts of being a writer. I however do believe if you want to be an accomplished writer, you've got to be a good liar. I'm not talking about slight embellishment, I'm saying you've got to be able to shovel bullshit by the truckload. And the real trick is you've got to spread it so the reader can't smell it. If they get the slightest whiff of bullshit you're done." "Wait a second. So you're saying a good writer must be deceptive and dishonest?" The bookworm girl in front with thick glasses asks. "When in the Hell did you hear me say that? Do you believe lying is a deceptive or dishonest act? Do you know who Diogenes was? He was an ancient Greek philosopher whose writings were destroyed. He lived in a barrel with his scraggly dog in Corinth, homeless and destitute. It's said he searched with a lantern both night and day throughout the city, looking to find an honest man. The result was that no such person existed. We all have our own concept of what is considered to be honest. Lying is a common and necessary practice that in some instances has a positive purpose. It's most likely the reason Diogenes is considered the father of cynicism. " "Now what you're saying is that being a liar and deceitful is actually a virtuous practice?" "When did you hear me say that? You're misinterpreting my point because of your inability to consider there could possibly be another school of thought pertaining to the subject. Tell me, are you an honest person? Are you always truthful? It's impossible to answer yes to those questions. What an incredible contradiction it is that we're given rules and regulations to obey, preached to us by others that know their rules are impossible to follow. It's a study in mental masturbation. You mentioned virtue, meaning ethical, moral, or honorable I think? These are all characteristics we must have to be considered ethical human beings. Actually everyone and I mean everyone, is under the impression they've been granted dispensation from following such rules. Yet they expect others to conduct themselves in accordance with the commandment. Are you familiar with the idiom 'Honesty is the best policy?' Tell me for whom? Who does this best policy of honesty benefit? Is it the one divulging their version of what they believe their truth to be? Or is it the one being told what they must determine as honesty, by their understanding of what the word means ? Everyone has their own definition of honesty. If you sincerely believe you are honest, virtuous, truthful and moral, then you most likely believe in the ridiculous concept of unconditional love. What I'm attempting to put across to you is that you've gotta create a story that is interesting and filled with emotion, causing the reader to connect with the world and characters you've created. Make them bleed with anticipation while turning the page. You've got to grab the reader by their pubic hairs and keep their attention." "Santiago I think your choice of words aren't suited for a teenage audience. Please keep it PG " " You're right, what the hell is wrong with me. I apologize class. I had my doubts about smoking that roach on my way here this morning." A burst of laughter from the students filled the classroom. I felt a little embarrassed sharing that information. Sometimes words slip off of my Teflon tongue before my brain has a chance to evaluate their implications. "Please Santiago don't refer to drug use or use any more profanity." "Of course Mrs. Pillion My sincere apologies. Now where was I?" "You were smoking dope on your way here this morning." A voice from the back of the class shouts. Again a chorus of laughter sings out this time including me. "Okay traviesos help me out here. You're going to get me busted. Now I've been told there are no new ideas. Accepting that fact to be true, it's necessary to dress your story in different clothes. Give it a new look, a different voice, a new name. Introduce it as if the plot has never been on a date before. However, it doesn't necessarily mean it's still a virgin." "Is there any other questionable advice you have for someone wanting to be a writer?" Mrs. Pillion asks. "Yes, as matter of fact I do. I'd like to leave you with a few suggestions you may want to consider. 1.Make sure you have a mirror available so you can watch yourself starve to death. 2. Write about what it is you know. 3.Just because it happened to you doesn't make it interesting. 4. Fuck what other people say. 5. Don't criticize your work. There's plenty of assholes in the world that will do it for you. 6. When you feel uninspired remember: It could be worse, it could be raining. 7. Love what you do and you'll never work a day in your life. And lastly: Never take a Mime's word for it." " Santiago please! That's enough for today. Thank you for your insightful information." I could barely hear her over the thunderous applause from the students and also giving me a standing ovation. I was a hit. A couple of weeks later talking with my former wife, she mentioned the consequence of my lecture to the Creative Writing class. " Did you know Allison was suspended for two weeks by the School Board because parents complained about her allowing you to give your books to the students. They were upset and quite angry pointing out your stories were disturbing, pornographic and obscene. Definitely not proper reading material for High School students. They were considering having you charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor." "So what, you're saying is they didn't like my books?" "What is wrong with you? You burnt yourself out on too many drugs. Did you understand anything I said? Oh ya, there was even a story about your lecture in the local newspaper." " So they did like my stories! I knew it." " Santiago, you're a real piece of work."
Poetry from Michael Robinson
Faith Saves My soul sought to find God. Salvation was in God's hands. Deliverance was God’s wishes. Sitting in the chapel praying. A heart full of grief praying. Loneliness turned into tears. Praying for heaven to come Seeking peace in my life. Always seeking to belong. In moments of despair tears came, Praying for heaven to come to me. Always praying for heaven to come. Soar with Me Heaven is a place with my heart. A renewed awareness of each beat. Listening to the sounds of light. Soar with me to a place of beauty. Leaving a trail of stars to heaven. Follow each star as it lights the sky. Soar with each breath you take. Behold each star as your own. Touch Heaven in your dreams. Night Stars Night stars glow in the skies of Vermont. Stars upon stars as the moon watches me. Light my path home to heaven to God. A shooting star leaves a trail to heaven. Harmony to a place where love exists. A soul finding Jesus among the stars. A life of hardship and despair forgotten. It was grace that saved me from the pain. A night that my soul was full of light.
Poetry from John Edward Culp
Today's Breakfast
-------------------------------------------
Today's Breakfast
is yesterday's lunch
And Dinner was
"Keep the coffee Hot!"
I'm alone in the night
Until I close my Eyes
Until the lure of Love
& my Hands touch
the sky
to adjust the stars a nudge
Everything I do Happens next
& I'm happy to the moment.
I lift my New Memories
of the freshly Brewed pleasure
Abandon my past
this savory moment
Kiss time
and Let go
Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope
The Luminous Child by Cheryl D. Wade M.D. is a fantasy account of how the universe and earth were created. A lot of the pictures throughout the book are from the Hubble Telescope. They are absolutely breathtaking. A very enlightening book for mythology and fantasy lovers.
Poetry from Hongri Yuan, translated by Yuanbing Zhang
By Chinese Poet Yuan Hongri Translated by Yuanbing Zhang Every Giant Looks Like Another Me There is a colossal ship in my golden state from outer space, sometimes it visit me in dreams, take me to the interstellar city of giants. Where there is my tomorrow's new home– the streets are covered with multicoloured gems, the words of giants sounds like the music; the gigantic buildings are the works of the Gods, let you forget yesterday's self in an instant. The whole giant city is your own garden, and every giant looks like another me. 07.10.2020 每一个巨人仿佛另一个自己 我天外的黄金之国有一艘巨轮 有时在梦境把我访问 载我去星际的巨人之城 那儿是我明天的新的家园 街道上铺满了五色的宝石 巨人们的话语仿佛乐曲 一座一座巨厦是天神的作品 让你刹那间忘了昨日的自己 那整座巨城是你自己的花园 而每一个巨人仿佛另一个自己 2020.07.10 The Paradises From Outside Time The heavenly flower from paradise on my palm make the wine of time twinkle with a smile of dawn. When the ancient in your bones play Guqin leisurely, you will see the prehistoric self, who riding like the wind– the mountains will be transparent and greet you , the rivers will be mellow, as if they are surrouned with the jade belts. There are a great many golden palaces on the clouds, where there are your paradises from outside time. 07.10.2020 时光之外的乐园 我手掌上这朵天国之仙葩 让时光之酒闪烁黎明之笑容 当你骨骼里的古人丁丁而弹琴 你看到了乘风而行的史前的自己 群山透明向你致意 河流芳醇如玉带萦绕 在云朵之上有巨多的金殿 那儿是你时光之外的乐园 2020.07.10 There's A Much Larger World in The Body There's a much larger world in the body this is the secret that the ancient sages has told you. Listen to the light pass through your body and play Guqin in your bones noticed an old man, who was 30000 years old ,sitting in a palace on the mountains top. There is an island in the depths of the ocean, the goddess was so brilliant before the world had been born. Her eyes will make you to forget the sadness, for an instant, take you through those free and unfettered days outside. 05.12.2020 在身体里有一个更大的世界 在身体里有一个更大的世界 这就是古代圣人告诉你的秘密 倾听光线穿过你的身体在骨骼里弹琴 看到一个老人三万岁了坐在山巅的一座宫殿 在海洋的深处有一座小岛 那位女神在世界诞生之前就如此灿烂 她的两只眼睛会让你忘了忧伤 一瞬间带你穿越那天外逍遥的日子 2020.05.12 The World is just A Lie The world is just a lie, truth is on the other side of the world. We can neither see the light of time nor know that everything is a shadow on the running water. There is another me on another planet, you have never been born or died. When the maze becomes transparent, the door of time-space opens, you will shake hands and smile with the giant in the heavens. The words are both music and the epic of the soul, Telling you that the palaces of outer space are incomparably lofty, as if they are as endless as the mountains of gold. 03.17.2020 世界只是一个谎言 世界只是一个谎言 真理在世界的另一面 我们看不到时间之光 不知道一切只是流水之上的影子 另外的星球上有另外的自己 你不曾出生也不曾死去 当迷宫透明时空之门敞开 你将和那天上的巨人握手微笑 那词语是乐曲也是灵魂之史诗 告诉你天外的宫殿无比的巍峨 如黄金之山岳连绵而无际 2020.03.17 Bio: Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet's Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, The Poetry Village, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are Platinum City and Golden Giant. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization. Its content is to show the solemnity, sacredness and greatness of human soul through the exploration of soul. Yuanbing Zhang (b. 1974), who is a Chinese poet and translator, works in a Middle School, Yanzhou District , Jining City, Shandong Province, China. He can be contacted through his email- 3112362909@qq.com. Phone:+86 15263747339 Email:3112362909@qq.com Address:No.18 middle school Yanzhou District ,Jining City, Shandong Province, China Yuan Hongri
Poetry from Aminata Talawally
Confession Lines In this poem I’m just a shy girl Trying to say stuffs That has never parted My lips before So sorry if my words Are blushing like how My face blushes Every time I see you I know you don’t see it But my eyes wander Around with eagerness At the sound of your name And the sweetest worst Part of it all is my heart Skips a beat every time Your hand lands on mine Just this one touch from you My body trembles and yearns That you do it all over again That’s why I’m letting my feelings Flow freely like how the river Flows in to the ocean But I hope mine flows Down the walls of your heart After all the heart understands The language of the heart
Aminata Talawally is an emerging writer from Liberia. She is a secondary student. Her ambition is to become a software engineer and also a great writer. Most of her poems surround love, life, pain, etc..
Poetry from George S.K. Boakai (“Compoze”)
To cry is a pill Seated alone counting on your losses, sometimes it's better to cry Cry aloud from the top of your lungs and feel it no more. It's better to scream, it's better to shout, it's better to yell and set free your whole But it's faulty to wear the garments of pains and sorrows under your long going sleeves, grief! it hurts. Cry is the filter that flushes out the pains clustered in your heart, causing headache And I see grief as a catcher that condenses a bundle of pains inside the heart, causing suffocation, constipation and heartache It doesn't tell how weak you are, cry It doesn't prove that your eyes are filled with tears, no! It doesn't tells the world that you're living in fears, no! It's a therapy of no cost, and another way of telling emotional stories, yes! It tells the world how strong you are, cos weak vessel never cries, yes! Cry is a pill, you'll get up and move after a cry It's better to cry And I see grief as an ill, it hurts a lot You must be endowed with heart attacks, sleeping with grief. Tears were meant for crying, cry aloud cry them out, cry like you dare it Your heart was built for beats and channeling free flow, grief not, cos cry is a free gift. About the Author My name is George Siaway Karnea Boakai, With a pen and well known name Compoze. I was born on April 29 1995 in Ghanta city Nimba County Liberia. I am a freelancer, a poet, a story teller, a song writer, a singer, a rapper and an aspiring Anthropologist. I starting writing since I was a kid, but I recognized that I am a writer in the year 2018. Poetry is the mirror that I see myself into on a day to day basis, it is the way I tell my millions of stories to the world. Poetry is one of the many ways I tell about my County Liberia and its long years of civil unrest to the world, it is the way by which I want to be heard and read about.